Time out.

The Voice is starting to piss me off. My rage is uncontrollable. I don’t know where to begin to express my discontent with the judges. Christina got rid of Jesse Campbell, quite possibly the best male vocalist on the show. RaeLynn was one of my least favorite in the beginning of the show, and quickly became one of my favorites. When she rocked out “She’s Country,” I fell in love. Then Blake’s stupid ass kicked her off! WHAT IS HAPPENING!??!?! I feel like I’m taking crazy pills. I still like you, Blake. But…but…!!

Also, Christina is being a total C-word. What, she lost five pounds so now she gets to be a bitch to everyone? Her negative criticism is always unwarranted and rude in general. She needs to be slapped in the tits.

Now it’s down to the wire though. I am saddened that Lindsey Pavao has left us. I think Juliet Simms will win this show. She’s a badass. Jermaine has a good voice, no doubt, but something about him bores me, same as Javier Colon last season. It’s like….they’re so powerful and good technically, but lack character in their singing. I don’t know, they don’t grab me as individuals like the others do.

My aspartame consumption is really causing my memory to debilitate, and I keep blacking out other parts of the show. I can’t remember who is left anymore. Go Juliet.

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The world has destroyed my attention span. I used to be able to wait for dial-up internet, and now I can’t wait for a 10 second YouTube commercial. I get pissed when it takes longer than 2 seconds for my email to load. I’m aggravated when the gas station pump takes 8 seconds to print a facking receipt. I feel like a six year old waiting for Christmas Eve when my oatmeal is in the microwave for 1:30. It can’t be reversed. Impatience is now ingrained in my generation.

I am finally the proud parent of a gloriously simple and sophisticated white iPhone 4s. I could not be happier. Deactivating my Droid was like getting ice cream on a 100 degree day. I was overjoyed. I am amazed I had the self control to not hurl my Droid at a brick wall up until this point. Siri and I are best friends. I asked her what I should wear this morning, and she said, “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing right now?”  I asked her again about an hour later and she responded with, “I’m sure whatever you wore yesterday would be fine.”  Haha. Attitude. Thanks Siri.

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Of course after receiving my new phone, I had to go peruse through the apps and get all my conveniences set up for myself, beginning with weather.  I’m a real freak about my weather updates. I want to know the real temperature, the “feels like” temperature, the chance of precipitation hour-by-hour, the 10-day forecast—I need to be in the know. Anyway, while I was deciding which app to choose for my weather updates, I read a few reviews. One particular weather app had a comment from a user that read,

“Cool app but isn’t always right.”

….No shit. Welcome to the WEATHER, kid. Weather forecasts are never “always right,” you nimrod. That’s like saying, “The Celtics are good but they don’t always win.”  Sigh.

WELL, time to do work things. Bi!

_________________________________________________________________

B:  “The bad thing about rice cakes is that I eat like six of them at a time.”

A:   “That’s because they’re filled with air.”

UFC you later.

I have been cooking a lot lately. My vegetable consumption has skyrocketed. My countertop is covered in fresh produce instead of a Jenga tower of Velveeta Shells & Cheese boxes. It used to be really tricky for me to buy fresh fruits and vegetables, because they would spoil and grow a toupee before I ever got around to eating them. Now I can barely keep my veggie stock full. I feel like I’m buying spinach, mushrooms, tomatoes and lemons nearly every day.

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I wish I had a garden. Then I wouldn’t have to watch my food go bad. I could just pluck things fresh off the vine. Strawberries, for example, get moldy before they even reach my home from the grocery store. This pisses me off. I like potatoes though. Potatoes don’t go bad. They just grow more potatoes. I wish the other vegetables would follow suit.

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I’m in a room full of people watching a UFC fight. The two fighters in the cage right now happen to be Canadian. People in the room keep saying, “Becca, these guys are Canadian! Don’t you want to watch?”  as I type away on my computer. No. I don’t know why everyone thinks just because I am from Canada that I should give a f-ck about other people doing things who also happen to be from Canada. If there was a quilting convention being broadcasted on television and the two geriatric women needling away were both from Missouri, would you give a shit about that, Greg? I didn’t think so.

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Speaking of the Canadian thing, when people find out I’m Canadian, it is not uncommon for them to say something like, “Hey, I went to school with a guy named Jordan who was from Canada! Maybe you know him?”  Canada is f-cking huge. It’s larger than the United States. What makes you think that I would just happen to know one of the 34 million people from there? Good lord.

These UFC fights are insane. This guy’s face is completely f-cked. His eyes are more swollen than a pregnant woman’s feet after a walk for heart disease. I don’t know how he can even see. It looks like he got hit in the face with a pumpkin. Like he was standing under a building and a pumpkin got dropped off the roof and hit him square in the face. I don’t know why people sign up for this. I generally like to avoid pain, and by generally I mean as a rule of my being at any and all costs. Four minutes later, this man’s face looks like he got slapped with a weed-whacker, and there are lemons beneath the surface of his skin. This is a bludgeoning. They just stopped and put a giant bag of ice on his face. There is no other option at this point. He looks like Quasimoto.

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I am typing this in real time as I watch this match. The other dude’s nose is a wreck. It is completely smashed. I would be bawling like a baby. At this point, my body would have taken over and forced me to pass out to protect me from any further suffering. Holy shit. His face looks like a steak that just got tenderized with a spiked mallet. His upper lip is so swollen, it looks like a chalkboard eraser. There is blood everywhere. It’s like he got sprayed in the face with hot sauce. This man is going to need 4 Vicodin, a shot of morphine, a bottle of Goldschlager, and several pounds of ice when he goes home. A coma is the only way to perservere through this beating. Put this man out of his misery. It looks like somebody dropped him off a house and he smacked his face on the curb.

Well, I guess…..that’s……it. That’s it. Bye.

____________________________________________________________________

B:   “Oh. T.I. has really nice teeth.”

T:   “T.I.’s got enough money to have any kind of teeth he wants.”

Plumb Pudding.

I have a headache that could kill a man. It is actually affecting my brain. I couldn’t say “iPhone” just now. All that sputtered out was, “uh….uh…..wait…..uh….”   It’s bad. Like, my eyeballs are hurting. I have popped some naproxen sodium in hopes that it would battle the migraine pounding away in my skull like Travis Barker. So far I still feel like the Keebler Elf is chopping wood in my cerebellum. I can’t live like this you guys.

The plumber came. GOD BLESS IT THE PLUMBER CAME!!!! Our five-day sink-clog has finally been remedied. After plunging the drain and opening the trap, we discovered two plastic knives, a popsicle stick, a straw, and half of a plastic fork. That’ll clog your drain. Whoops. Due to an unusable sink for nearly a week, almost every single dish we owned was dirty and piled upon every square inch of counter space we had, stinking it up worse than Fergie at the Superbowl. The kitchen smelled like spoiled algea and pussy. It was disgusting.

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After tackling the pile of dishes, I went on a full-fledged cleaning rampage. It actually smells GOOD in here. Like, if you closed your eyes, you might actually think you weren’t somewhere completely f-cking disgusting. I Febrezed everything. Candles were lit. The floor was swept and scrubbed, the counters disinfected, the microwave cleaned, and the carpet vacuumed. SPEAKING of which, today was the day I got to try the ol’ Dyson Ball Animal vacuum cleaner for the first time. I came. It is an incredible machine. It turns on a dime, it has multiple easy-to-use attachments, it’s a beast—I love it. I can’t believe how much dirt is in the carpet. It’s nauseating. And I eat Cadbury Mini Eggs off that floor….

I won’t stop.

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I want Mexican food. I would like to be showered in queso blanco. Is that too much to ask? I could bury my face in a cheese enchilada right now if a) I had one and b) no one was around to witness it. Motorboating food is a sure-fire way to become judged harshly. (Fat). Sometimes I get over certain types of food for years at a time. From 2008 to 2010, I could not stop eating Mexican cuisine. Then I did. Chinese and Italian took the lead and I stuffed my gullet full of pasta and fried rice. Two years later, Mexican food is creeping back in. Boy is it. Give me some rice and beans, Jose. Fire up the grill.

WELL, I’m leaving. It’s none of your business what I’m going to go do.

…..but if you must know, I’m putting on more pants because there is a chill in the air. Nosy pricks.

_____________________________________________________________________

“Brian, you came!”

“No, I just spilled my drink.”

Home sweet home.

I cannot wait to leave the dump that I am living in in Pennsylvania. Pennsylvania itself is a dump, but the apartment we have been staying in for the last year is a direct reflection of the crummy, vapid state itself.

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Currently, our plumbing is all f-cked up, and nothing will drain. The tub fills up with water while you’re showering, the washing machine leaves your clean clothes sitting in three inches of water after the cycle, sopping wet , forcing you to hand-wring each heavy article of clothing out before tossing it into the dryer (for two cycles, because consequently it takes forever to dry), and the kitchen sink is completely filled with water, and has been for FIVE days now. This is a problem. 1) It’s f-cking disgusting. 2) It’s f-cking annoying. Our counters are PILED high with dirty dishes, and the kitchen smells like afterbirth. Thank god the toilets are flushing, but the way things are progressing, it’s only a matter of time before those stop working, too.

We have no garbage disposal. That means two tiny macaroni noodles can clog the kitchen sink entirely. This also means stinky spoiling food sits in the trash for several days, stinking up the place.

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We have no air conditioning. “Get a window unit!”  Our windows do not slide up, they angle out. Window units are not a plausible option. The date is March 24th, and the apartment is probably 82 degrees. We are all sweating. The opposite issue is that we do not control the heat in this building. Instead, the old couple that lives below us does. This is problematic because the heat travels from their apartment up the air ducts into our apartment. What’s wrong with that you ask? See next issue.

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Our downstairs neighbors REEK of pee. It is a geriatric couple that do nothing but sit at home all day, pissing in their elastic waistband pants on the couch. Each time they leave the apartment to slowly shuffle down the hall with their walkers to retrieve the mail (which takes them like ten painful minutes somehow), they leave the door open to their apartment, and the gut-wrenching stench of urine permeates the entire building. Passing through the hallway at this time will surely put you to death. The ammonia levels in this apartment are life-threatening. It gets in your mouth. You need to scrape your tongue after an accidental run-in with Mr. and Mrs. Peebody. It’s f-cking terrible. I don’t know how the ammonia level hasn’t killed them yet, but I hope it does soon. When they die, the apartment will need to be cleansed by fire. Industrial strength cleaning supplies will be as effective as using a cardboard box as shelter from an F5 tornado.

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We have no dishwasher. This is more of an inconvenience than a serious problem, but a problem nonetheless. Four people in one apartment: the dishes pile up fast. One minute you’re eating dinner, and the next minute you’re feeling hopeless, facing a pile of dishes the size of Mt. Everest.

Our carpet sheds like a Newfoundland dog in mid-July. I have never seen carpet do this before in my life. It doesn’t matter how many times you vacuum, carpet fibers continue to unpluck themselves and scatter about the floor. Somehow it does not seem to be thinning. I don’t understand.

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We have only two-prong electrical outlets. Welcome to 1976. My computer, flat iron, blow dryer, vacuum cleaner—almost all of my appliances are three-prong. This is very annoying. I had to purchase several plug-in adapters so that I could use all of these items.

Bugs invade our home in a very serious manner. Our windows aren’t exactly “airtight,” nor are the screens that loosely occupy them. We have an infestation of tiny flies right now. They wind up in your glasses of water, on your toothbrush, they fill the light fixtures—it’s disgusting.

Things are just permanently dirty in this house. Like, no matter what you do to the tub/shower, it will never look, feel, or smell clean. Same with the floors. Nothing can be done. Get me out of here.

WELL, that’s enough agony for now. Enjoy your day, girls and boys.

______________________________________________________________________

“When I first came from Russia, it said this was an ‘alcohol free campus.’ I was like, ‘Oh my god, they give alcohol for free here?'”

Car sick.

I have arrived in Pennsylgaynia. I knew I had entered the state when I passed an entrance ramp on the interstate and saw a car at a complete stop, waiting for all the assholes in the right lane refusing to move over and let him in finally pass by so they could try to go from 0 to 60 in three seconds and not get ass-reamed by the semi that would be rushing up on them immediately upon their entrance to the highway. GUUUHHH.

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On Tuesday morning before I left my hotel in Indiana to finish the drive to Pennsylvania, I stopped at a gas station to get caffeine and snacks. In the checkout line, I spied snack-size baggies of Cadbury Mini Eggs. I have had a hard time finding them the past couple of Easters, so I got excited and grabbed 3 or 4 packages of them. The clerk put them in the grocery sack along with my drinks, and I put them in the back seat and continued on my way down the road.

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Four hours pass, and I am now just ten short minutes away from my house in Greensburg. The end is in sight. Suddenly, Raleigh sits up in the front seat and begins to gag. He’s about to throw up. All over the leather seat in my brand new Jeep Grand Cherokee. Now, from experience, I know that once Raleigh has begun his gagging motion, you have a 10-15 second window before he throws up all over the g-ddamn place, so if you’re quick, you can grab something for him to throw up in or on so you have less of a mess. This is fine and well, except that I am driving an SUV 65 miles per hour down the EXTREMELY narrow interstate with cars and semis to my right, and four-foot high cement medians to my left. There is no room for error.

I frantically search for something to capture the vomit in. I have no leftover empty fast food bags, napkins, nothing. Then I remember the bag filled with Cadbury Mini Eggs in the back seat. There’s no time to save the Minis. I reach back and grab the bag, all the while trying to maintain my vehicle and not careen into a RAV-4 or a cement wall. Raleigh is still gagging, getting closer and closer to barfing all over the front seat of the car. A ticking time bomb. I desperately try to get the plastic grocery sack open and directed in front of his mouth with my one free hand while maintaining most of my attention to the high speed traffic I am in. I flap my hand around the plastic bag, trying in vain to position it in a way that would contain the puke when suddenly, “BLEEECHHH!!!”

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Hot liquid explodes all over my hand. Wide-eyed and mouth agape in terror, I look over. I was too late. I couldn’t get the bag in order before he threw up. My entire hand is covered in bright yellow, bubbly, hot, frothy throw up. None of the vomit made it inside the bag, but instead, all over it. It was f-cking disgusting. I had to get the bag out of the car immediately. I roll the driver’s side window down and motion to toss the bag out the window. Unfortunately when you are going sixty-something miles per hour down the interstate, a flimsy plastic sack covered in dog puke doesn’t fly out the window like a rock. The vomit-covered bag flew RIGHT back into the car and flung puke all over my face, shoulder, hair, and head rest. I continued to scream and struggle with the flapping bag for probably five or six long seconds until it finally exited the car. I glanced over my shoulder to see that it had also splattered the yellow barf all over the rear passenger window in the process. My entire vehicle now smelled like a stillbirth.

Ten minutes. I was just ten minutes away from my destination.

It literally could not have gone any worse than it did. I should have just let him puke on the seat.

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In positive news, my allergies have finally given me a f-cking break. Thank god. I was about to give up and just die. I have never been so clogged up in all my life. My sinuses felt like someone hit me in the face with a mallet and smashed my nose into my skull. My labored, impossible breathing was like what I imagine being a pug would be like. Terrible.

Please read this man’s blog about taking the SATs. I laughed out loud by myself in my living room like a mental patient for ten minutes. You will too. If you can read I mean.

http://deadspin.com/5893189/what-happens-when-a-35%20year%20old-man-retakes-the-sat

WELL, that’s all for now, folks. Keep calm and whiskey forward.

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B:   “What should I do with my hair? I have an appointment on Saturday.”

C:   “Don’t ask me for hair advice, Becca. I’m gay but I’m not that gay.”

Bed crumbs. Like ‘bread crumbs.’ You’ll get it later.

 

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I spent the last 10.5 hours driving eastbound across the United States, or shall I refer to it as the United Fields of Soybeans, because that’s all I saw for 700 miles. That and windmills. And dead coyotes. Boy were there are lot of roadkill coyotes. You’d think animals would be smarter. It’s like, you run into a deer in a field and it sprints away from you like you have polio and there’s a wildfire behind you. They approach a busy interstate with dozens of enormous steel machines barreling down the cement like roaring tanks, and they walk directly into them. I don’t understand.

I have finally arrived at the Comfort Inn in Richmond, Indiana; my midway point before finishing the long haul to Pennsylvania. I checked in, drove through McDonald’s, snuck my dog into the hotel, and have settled down for the night. I made the mistake of inhaling my McDonald’s value meal in my bed. There are crumbs all throughout the sheets. It feels like the bed is full of sand. Lucky for me there are two beds in this room.

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My canine counter part, Raleigh, is making the voyage with me like usual. He is my fellow traveler, and a great one at that. He sleeps literally the entire way, no matter how long we are in the car. The only issue with that is he turns into a ballistic psycho animal when we reach our destination because he is just bursting with energy. I just bring billions of toys I can stuff treats into and attempt to entertain him with food until we go to bed. Food = Entertainment. That’s how we do things in America.

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My allergies could not possibly be any worse than they have been for the past week. I am more congested than the streets of LA when it rains for more than four minutes. It literally feels like someone rolled up a sock and jammed it into my nasal passage. There is not a nook or cranny of space for air to squeeze through. I am losing my life. F-ck plants. F-ck all of the plants. I have a pile of balled up Kleenexes on the floor of my car that could stuff a pillow case from blowing my nose like a pissed off elephant all day long. Not that blowing my nose helps even in the slightest way. My sinuses feel like a bloated water-logged dead body. I don’t even want to speak because of how dumb I sound. Words with N’s in them are impossible. I have taken both a Zyrtec and a Mucinex today, to no avail. I’m still just a mouth-breathing, retarded-sounding son of a bitch.

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I had a dream last night that these huge fluffy clouds were freezing because of the cold weather, and essentially turning into big masses of snow in the sky, and they came crashing down and breaking into pieces on the ground. It didn’t make any sense. Thanks for listening.

WELL, this is short, but I am extremely tired and need to pass out in this bed. Tomorrow will be spent blitzing the continental breakfast, pumping some caffeine into my body, and then finishing my drive to the worst state in the entire country. Goodbye, all.

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C:    This F-CKING dog won’t stop playing with her stuffed crab on my knees.

B:    Kill that thing already. Set a mouse trap.

C:    But she entertains me sometimes. If I were to kill her though, I think I would drown her. Or put her in my back pack and slam it against my wall.

The scent of a woman.

I keep snapping my head from left to right and nosing the air after catching whiffs of something really fresh and delicious smelling. *Sniff sniff*–what is that fantastic smell? I wonder. Then I realize it’s me. More specifically, it’s my shirt, because Tide laundry detergent + Febreze is the elixir of life and Proctor & Gamble’s gift to the world. Every article of clothing comes out smelling like what I imagine David Beckham smells like. My clothing emits a delightful, welcoming and comforting aroma of freshness like a field of wild flowers on a spring afternoon. I want to eat my shirt. It’s irresistible. I recommend it.

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Coincidentally, I just logged onto Yahoo News to find other shit to write about, and the first story that caught my eye was the following:

http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/trending-now/tide-detergent-being-stolen-stores-across-country-162253268.html;_ylt=Aiht5k2xXggiSp4Ij_KL3yKs0NUE;_ylu=X3oDMTNqbW1zNWxxBGNjb2RlA2N0LmMEcGtnA2IyNGRiMDM5LTBkYTAtM2M5Yi1iY2NjLTYxYTA4ZmIzMzQ3OQRwb3MDMgRzZWMDbW9zdF9wb3B1bGFyBHZlcgNjYTEwOTlhMC02ZGQ2LTExZTEtOGZhMy02YjdhZjM5NTU4MjM-;_ylg=X3oDMTFrM25vcXFyBGludGwDdXMEbGFuZwNlbi11cwRwc3RhaWQDBHBzdGNhdAMEcHQDc2VjdGlvbnMEdGVzdAM-;_ylv=3

^ People stealing Tide. Haha. It’s not about the drugs, Yahoo. It’s about the heavenly smelling Tide.

Tide + Downy is also orgasmic. Try them both, choose for yourself.

The Voice continues to grab me by the balls. I love this show. I also love Adam Levine’s face, eyes, mouth, and body. That is when I’m not so distracted by Christina Aguilera’s bazoongas to see it. What the f-ck is up with Cee Lo Green and his giant white cat?

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Am I watching The Voice or Austin Powers? The cat’s name is Mr. Purrfect. Unbelievable. One second I’m watching a very intense singing competition, and the next second I’m watching Cee Lo Green stroke his white cat in his red silk pajamas and make commentary on the show like it’s perfectly normal. He’s doing it to f-ck with everyone. Haha.

There is perhaps nothing more frightening than having a full bottle of soda erupt in your face while driving 80 miles per hour down the interstate in the winding, snowy mountains. The other day after five hours of intense snowboarding, my brother and I stopped at a 7/11 to get some garbage to put into our bodies to not help it recover from all the aggressive physical activity we put them through that day. We picked up some Doritos, Dr. Peppers, and Cadbury Eggs, gassed up the car and hit the road. About five minutes into the drive, I asked Richard to pass me my Dr. Pepper with much anticipation. With my knee on the steering wheel, I twisted the cap, and like Mt. St. Helens in 1980, it violently exploded all over the driver’s side of the car with the fury of a thousand volcanoes. I was literally dripping in Dr. Pepper from head to toe. I have no idea what happened. It was never shaken, bumped, or disturbed. Richard stared at me with his mouth agape. We were so confused.

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“I don’t even know what’s going on right now,” he said. Haha. I was pissed. My coat, pants, face, lap, seat, center console, door, and steering wheel were coated in sticky pop. What happened, Bill Nye? Did the cashier pull a prank on me? I did make her go through a bit of trouble with manufacturer’s coupons during the checkout……what a bitch.

Anyway, time for me to go paint my nails. I’m becoming a nail painting addict. It’s fine. Gotta keep my game tight, knowhadamsayne?

BYE!

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“Imagine your dick as a bus. Even a small bus is still a huuuge bus. You know?”

It’s a boy!

Sadly I have left the wonderous state of Colorado behind to once again travel to the dismal, vapid, grumpy east coast. There is nothing more painful than driving away from the mountains and seeing the hazy blue Rockies slowly disappear in your rear view mirror. Except maybe my right ass cheek after enduring the ten hour drive. That’s painful too. I got Taco John’s part-way through the drive to numb the pain. It worked.

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So my life continues to be a routine cycle of packing and unpacking. What sucks about this time is that I had to pack all of my stuff to leave Colorado, come home to Iowa and unpack it all, then re-pack for Pennsylvania, then unpack when I get there, then in two weeks when I’m called to the next storm somewhere else in the country, RE-pack all of that, and then unpack AGAIN when I reach my final destination. Somebody shoot me square in the face.

I am currently at Performance Chrysler-Jeep-Dodge in Omaha getting my leaking sunroof repaired, but you could convince me I’m at a Westin Hotel. The staff is incredibly welcoming and kind, and they have a waiting room fit for a king. There is a Goldfish dispenser, a trail mix dispenser, a popcorn machine, hot chocolate, coffee, lattes, tea, bottled water, chai (the list of hot drinks goes on for miles), plus a computer lab, televisions, magazines, and wireless internet. The only thing I need is a Heavenly Bed and I’m set.

Well, and for them to stop playing “Just Another Manic Monday” on the radio. Beggars can’t be choosers.

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I came home and immediately got pissed off at my full closet again. This thing is impossible. Six weeks ago when I arrived home, I gutted it out as much as I thought I could. I tried again yesterday. I am successfully getting rid of another pile of clothes. I was too lazy last time, but this time I am going to try to pawn some of it off at a consignment shop. My goal is to make some cash money and go purchase a Bose Sound Dock from Craigslist. I have wanted one for a long time. SPEAKING of things I’ve wanted for a long time, guess what we’ll be welcoming into the family soon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!
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!!
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A brand new Dyson “DC 41 Animal” Ball Vacuum!!!

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Praise the Lord! I am so excited. I have never been this jacked over a household appliance in all of my life. Probably because we’ve never really owned real household appliances yet. I hope it sucks, in the most literal sense of the word. The last two vacuum cleaners we owned were completely f-cking useless. The first one was a Bissell that got clogged in 14 seconds by the grotesque cocktail of my long red hair + my dog’s shedding coat, and then I got another one off Craigslist that I thought would be better by leaps and bounds, but that one was even worse if that’s possible. I had resorted to periodically going to different neighbors and asking to borrow their vacuum cleaners. This was fine, except my closest neighbor’s vacuum was an 80 pound steel tank from the 1980s that required both a crane and a pro-wrestler on steroids to maneuver, and the other neighbor lived a block away. Inconveniences that make you say, “F-ck it,” and live in the filth.

But not anymore. OOOO WEEE!!!! I am going to be a vacuuming son of a bitch. There won’t be a hair, fur, dust particle, or crumb in sight after I get this beast. There might not even be furniture.

Things might get out of control.

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My Jeep is filthy. A drive through the melting mountains coated it in a baker’s dozen layers of dirt, salt, mud, sand, and oil. It needs to be seriously cleaned. Too bad I don’t already have my Dyson Vacuum or I could just SUCK ALL THE FILTH OFF!!!!

I think my perception of how this vacuum works may be becoming a little distorted.

The high for every single day this week is 79 degrees. SEVENTY-NINE.

…DEGREES.

It is early March in Iowa. What is going on? Bring on the storms. Anyway, the point is, I could just get out there and wash my car myself. But it’s just so much work. I’d rather have Jeff’s Riverside Car Wash do it. (They have a sign outside that says “We’ll detail ANYTHING!” I wonder if they mean that. Someone bring them a microwave). If you are from or are ever in Council Bluffs, Iowa, go ahead and bring your vehicle into this place. You won’t recognize it when you go back to pick it up. They clean it like there’s no tomorrow. A full interior and exterior detailing is like $70 or something. Pretty great for floor mats you could eat chicken pate off of afterward. I recommend it.

Anyway, time for me to go check out my leaking sunroof and hope it doesn’t cost me $400 to fix. I’ll keep you posted on how badass the Dyson Ball is. Bi.
__________________________________________________________________

“*GASP* – He took the pepporcini! GOOD LUCK!”

Polly Pocket.

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Welp, Monday was spent recuperating from the previous three days at the SnowBall Music Festival. I spent 72 consecutive hours destroying my body, mind and spirit with alcohol and elicit drugs. I couldn’t be happier. What an insane f-cking time. There were bananas and champagne and glow sticks everywhere. Got about 30 solid hours in the onesie, circa 1986 (eBay gem), pillaged roughly $180 of merchandise including Snowball shirts, Burton tees, and Burton beanies, danced like an asshole and burned 150,000 calories (all the more reason to continue my daily carb-loading routine).

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Top shows of the electronic music festival for me were:

• Ghostland Observatory
• DallasK
• Minnesota
• Bag Raiders
• Dada Life
• Bassnectar
• MiMOSA
• Boombox

Initially I mistyped “Boobmox” on Boombox. Everybody makes mistakes. Like I said, my brain is seizing. I’m lucky that my heart is still beating today. I cannot wait for next year.

I wish humans had built-in pockets. There are several things I like to always have on my person. Chapstick, tissues, my phone. I could really benefit from having the convenience of a built-in fanny pack. Basically I wish I were a marsupial.

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I can’t stop feasting on the enormous batch of breakfast burritos Trent made last week. These delicious tortillas are filled with zesty chorizo, fluffy eggs, a fiesta blend of Mexican cheese, a river of Cholula (clutch), onions, and roasted potatoes. Mmm. I’m not really sure how burritos can actually qualify as a “breakfast” food, but then again, when have Americans ever really followed the rules. I like how we slap the word “breakfast” in front of various non-breakfast items and consider it perfectly acceptable. Breakfast pizza, breakfast burritos, breakfast casserole. Just put the word “breakfast” in front of it, then it’s healthy!

We’re fat.

Speaking of fat, Christina Aguilera needs to stop wearing hats. What the f-ck was she wearing on her head this week, a Bedazzled vinyl record?

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Awful. What kind of drugs is she on, and why weren’t they available to me at the Snowball Music Festival this weekend? If it’s possible, she has gotten even more orange. I’m beginning to think it’s a biological thing, like she gets oranger with age, like a tangerine.

ANYway, time to go get more much needed REM. Adios, muchachos.

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“Whiskey. Rum. Mali. Coke. Shrooms. Jager. Weed. Beer. Vodka.”

“This text message thread would be a gold mine for the police department.”

Ramen wild.

I am officially sick. I feel like I have been sick too many times this year. Usually I get one stubborn cold that lasts for a few days plus one more serious ailment each year, and that’s it. I’ve already had the worst case of strep that anyone has ever seen PLUS multiple annoying colds. WHAT is the DEAL? Perhaps my body is rebelling against me for filling my diet with nothing but off-brand Cocoa Puffs, macaroni and cheese, Dr. Pepper, microwavable burritos, Golden Oreos, Velveeta, and Cadbury Creme Eggs. Who knows.

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I’m a complainer. There aren’t a whole lot of funny things to say about being sick though, so it doesn’t make for great blogging material. I might actually erase everything I’ve written up to this point.

Eh.

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I was jonesing for Maruchan Ramen today due to my shitty cold. I had flashbacks to my elementary years when I ate cherry Pop Tarts and oriental flavored Ramen for nearly every meal, and my craving returned from the darkness. Unlike most college kids, I actually did not eat even one single ounce of Ramen noodles whilst in university. An odd phenomena to skip, seeing as it costs just 18 cents per package. Nope, I thrived on Kraft mac and cheese, beer, Gumby’s pizza, Taco Bell, beer, Spaghettio’s, pasta, McDonald’s, and beer.

(I was fat.)

Anyway, I am spending my afternoon filling my body with soup and watching Arrested Development. I’m not too pissed about the situation, except that I can’t breathe through my nose and I sound like a man. I did purchase some DayQuil to help numb the discomfort. We’ll see how it works out. So far I’m still snotting all over the USA. I haven’t had Kleenexes nearby all day, so the left sleeve of my sweatshirt is getting pretty unsanitary if you know what I mean.

“Decorated scrotum.”

This was a search term used by someone out there in the world wide web recently that led them to my blog. How it led them to my blog, I will never know. Has Vagazzling spread out and touched the male population as a genital decorating fad? This is disturbing to me. There is no reason to put Swarovski crystals and sequins on a scrotum. Do not decorate your scrotum. Under no circumstance should you ever draw attention to the scrotum. It is a nauseating physical attachment to the male body that should be ignored at all costs as far as I’m concerned.

I find myself craving another bowl of Ramen. This has nothing to do with scrotums.

Well, talk to you later.

 

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B:   “Dan, does this dog look comfortable?”

D:   “Yeah, I mean….I can see his asshole.”