Saturday, August 06, 2005

I dare say it has been quite some time since I have posted drunk. Or, I dare say it has been a many moons since I've moseyed 'round this par-ticular pasture. That is, I mean to say, while drunk.

This house is a madhouse. More people sleep here that don't pay rent than sleep here that do. It's a difficult balance to maintain, but we work hard 'round here.

This evening I came home to find a home empy save for one lone Jessica. We watched a bit of that Bridget Jones's movie during which Jess and I drank every time she did something socialy awkward. (and we're talking British awkward, not USA awkward).

Jess has passed out and I am...well, I'm here.

More people showed up to the house. More drinks were drunk. More people showed up drunk.

I'm just trying to enjoy everything while it lasts.

Pyne! My professor's name is Pyne.

Oh, and I've decided to forgo the swimming class for a ballet class. Since, after all, I can already swim. And who knows when I might find myself thrown into a dance recital with my life at stake?

I'm just not willing to take that chance.

Are we lacking intimacy? Should I light some candles or something?

Let's not do this in front of the children. Just tell me what you want and I'll stop trying to second-guess you. I'll assume you know what's best for you and act accordingly. I suppose that is frightening, though. God forbid we be responsible for our own actions.

I've been trying to be less sarcastic. It hasn't been going well.

But my capacity for understatement is as strong as ever.

Today is Saturday. Is Saturday some sort of day? I met a New Zealander today. I suppose that's good enough.

Happy Birthday, Alan Schuler. I'd sing for you but I forgot what number I'm supposed to call for that audio blogger thing. It's for the best.

Friday, August 05, 2005

I have just emerged victorious from the electronic melee that is registering for classes at ASU. This morning at 7 o'clock sharp, all the students that had registered for classes but had not yet paid tuition were dropped. This opened up many classes that had previously been full. Thus, myself and all the other students who hadn't thought about what classes to take before this week were ready and waiting to register online before classes filled up again.

As I said, I emerged victorious. I did fail to get one of the classes I wanted, so I suffered the electronic-melee-equivalent of losing an arm.

Ah, well. I can always take a singing class or something else that doesn't require two arms.

The television set has been blaring local news at my back. A few moments ago, when I heard the space shuttle Discovery is preparing to return to Earth, my ears perked up. But when the news anchor described the cargo the shuttle was returning with, I cocked my head in confusion. Included among the research and equipment is all the garbage from the space station.

Now, I'm no space-knowing-stuff-about-guy, but isn't this one of those time when it would be okay to just fire off the garbage in the direction of, I don't know, let's say...anywhere?

But I digress.

My classes should be good. I'll be taking Fire History Ecology which is taught by the world's leading expert on fire. My hope is that I'll be able to contribute more to the conversation than just Smokey the Bear anectdotes when Sibbitt and I discuss his forest service work.

I wonder if this guy smokes?

I've just realized that I have failed to see if any writing classes have opened up. Looks like it's once more into the breach, dear friends. If I don't make it, I'll make it back.

Update: At Jaden's gentle urging, I dropped my pants in celebration as I successfully registered for my writing class.

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

I am listening to a song by Lauren Henschen's entitled "I Swear It Would Have Moved You".

I'm thoroughly enjoying it.

I work in a few hours. Driving around most of the night allows me plenty of time to think and/or rock out. This delivery business isn't a bad gig at all. I even think I've discovered a new form of obsessive-compulsive disorder. It seems to manifest primarily in women and it compels them to take a shower immediately after ordering a pizza and then run around in a towel until the pizza arrives.

It is just a hypothesis, though. Clearly, more research is in order.

Sunday, July 31, 2005

After feeding my blog template a last meal, I took it out to the yard behind my house and shot it.

I buried the blog template under the pink grapefruit tree. I observed a moment of silence that was marred by the rumbling of a passing train and a grunt of pain as the grapefruit I was biting into squirted pink liquid pain into my left eye.

I returned to the indoors and the mounds of uncertainty that had accumulated in my new bedroom.

I have moved into a house on Apache and McClintock. It is a four-bedroom with a lush backyard. I now live with Brian Y., Virginia, and Mollie. I moved in almost two weeks ago but it seems as if it has been much longer than that.

I finally got a job a week ago but it seems as if it has been a little less than a week ago.

I am now a pizza delivery boy. It is almost the exact opposite of the insurance company I left in May. I am still as reckless as ever, except now I am on the road and instead of desperately avoiding my supervisors I have to avoid police, pedestrians, and other cars.

I have been admitted to Arizona State University. I begin classes full-time in a few weeks. It came as a pleasant surprise to discover that I am actually a Junior. It seems all that half-assed effort at community college added up. I will major in Biology and Society and perhaps sneak in an English minor.

I am dating a wonderful woman named Kelly. She is left-handed. I had deftly managed to avoid dating entirely since December. Kelly, simply by being herself, performed the mental equivalent of sticking out her foot and I tripped right over it. And I liked it. A lot.

I am still tinkering with this template but my hopes are high. My old writing desk and my laptop are set up in my new room. This is the same setup I had during the year when I found myself the most prolific. I am hoping the same trick will work twice.

Here's to a new chapter. Here's to an honest discourse. And here's to figuring out how to get rid of that "Typewriter's at the ready!" in the corner of this template.

I'm warning you, New Template. Don't give me no sass. There's still plenty of room underneath the ol' pink grapefruit tree.

Update: My threat worked.