Make Yourself A Perfect Slave

Lollapalooza was pretty good times. I was only going to see A Perfect Circle, but I was pleasantly surprised to see that Incubus and Audioslave were also scheduled to play. I even ran into Courtney and Molly, although it took me at least ten minutes to realize that it was them. (I have been a bit out of it lately.)

Donaldo, Boston, my sister Barbara, Ingrid, and I didn't stay to hear Jane's Addiction. How ironic.

They all jumped the fence separating the lawn seats from the more expensive seats, but I didn't. How lame.

Now With Even More Trunk Space

Seven months ago, I went Christmas shopping for Morgan, a girl I was dating. I bought two things: The Bone Collector, because she really likes, nay, loves Angelina Jolie and I was pretty sure she didn't have that DVD yet, and a little shiny ceramic turtle thing, because one of the first things we ever did together (outside of Biology class) was go to The Phoenix Zoo. It was great because even though I had been to zoo before I saw three things that I had never seen before. It was the first time I had actually heard the lion roar. The tawny bastard was really going off. If you haven't heard a lion roar, you're screwed because their is nothing else like it.

The second incident was at the Galapagos Tortoise Exhibit. Morgan and I were observing their cow-like antics when this big tortoise comes out from around the corner and starts tearing off towards the other end of the habitat. It was the fastest I'd ever seen one of those things move. I remember thinking, "What's over at the other end that has him so motivated?" I should have already known. The big tortoise hopped up (scrambled, rather) onto a considerably smaller female. I don't think the female tortoise was really in the mood, but it is difficult to argue with an amorous 500-pound armored reptile when it is already on your back. (Don't believe me? Try it!)

They proceeded to mate, or as those of us with zoological veterinary backgrounds refer to it, "knockin' shells." I amused myself by watching the reactions of the crowd. There was more than a fair share of disgusted fascination, a heap of embarrasment, and a whole mess o' gigglin'. I remember saying to Morgan, "They think this is funny, they should see humans having sex. Now that's comedy."

Wow, anyway, that was why I got her the shiny,colorful, turtle as a present.

And I don't remember what the third thing was that we saw, but it must have been cool because I still remember forgetting it.

So that almost bring us up to last night.

I hadn't given Morgan her presents. I hadn't given them to her because she had died. No! She didn't die. But this is still pretty bad.

During the month of December, I was working like mad at the group home because we were incredibly short-staffed. I worked on Christmas Eve and on Christmas Day, and one of those overnights as well. So I was working a lot and doing little else. I grew bitter at the world in general and managed to work myself into a pretty foul mood over the course of Winter Break. Ah, enough excuses. I stopped calling Morgan.

Yes, I fell victim to the weakest way to end a relationship possible: The Invisible Prison. The-I-haven't-gone anywhere-but-I-can't-call-write-or-come-over-anymore-Why?-Because-I-don't-know. The only other relationship I had been in before Morgan but since Kate (that's right, just one since...'01) also ended that way, with me slinking off into the sunset. Which is odd, since with Kate I was "engaged" and I essentially told her, look, I don't want to marry you, I don't even want to date you anymore, not only because I don't really like you but also because I hate myself when I'm with you. So I can do it, I can end a relationship and be brutally honest about it. But I haven't since.

*Sidenote: Is it just me or do I still mention Kate a lot? (That's a joke, relax. Ha ha.)

Yes, well, so I didn't call. And there were no presents from Guillermo (actually she knew me as William, as do most people who meet me for the first time at school or work) under her tree.

Argh, I hate admitting fault. It's almost as bad as being at fault in the first place.

The End?

"Nothing ever ends." -Dr. Manhattan

Which brings us all the rest of the way up to last night.

I saw her at a party Donaldo's friend threw back in our beloved ghetto, a place I wouldn't have expected to see her. We were all in the backyard under very poor lighting and she appeared out of the darkness all dramatically. I went over and said hello, we talked for a bit, and then I confessed to her that I still had her Christmas presents in the trunk of my car.

Well, what was I supposed to have done with them? I had already wrapped them, and it seemed wrong to unwrap somebody else's presents and keep them for myself. I could have given them to other people, but if it truly is the thought that counts, the thought would not have been a good one; "I'm an ass, so here's a present that I never intended for you to have." The logical thing to do at the time seemed to be put the presents somewhere very accessible so in the event that I ever see Morgan again I will have them to give to her. It makes perfect sense, really. And if you think it doesn't, forget you, sucka, because that is...exactly...what...I...did!

She seemed to like her gifts. Surprisingly, she still didn't have The Bone Collector. Less surprisingly, she didn't have an amazing technicolor turtle, either.

Final Post Ever?

In a few hours I will drive to the middle of nowhere to give someone money to throw me out of their plane. This is what separates us from the animals, folks. Humans pay to jump out of planes, and animals don't. End of argument.

Something else that separates us from the animals: No animal I know of has ever had one of their roommates move out and take with them a piece of equipment I know only as "The Magic Blinky-Light Box" that is rumored to be integral to my gaining access to the internet.

So if it's been a while since I've updated, the salesmen at the Electronics 'R' Us still hasn't figured out what a "Magic Blinky-Light Box" is yet from my vague description and inconsistent hand gestures.

Or maybe my parachute didn't open and I'm dead. If so, I want to be cremated. I don't want to risk coming back as a zombie. And everyone better get completely trashed at my funeral, wake, or both and tell stories about me that are completely false, like my days spent hitch-hiking across the United States in search of the American Dream.

I love you, Mom. The rest of you are pretty cool, too.

And don't worry, I'll give you guys a call if, after I die, anything is going on.

And in the trunk of my car, there are presents for all of you.