I was thinking of something funny the other night; That an injured, blinded, animal will lash out at everything around it.

Well, that isn't funny. What was that funny thing I was thinking of then?

Maybe it was one of my dreams. I enjoy dreaming, it is one of my hobbies. One dream I remember vividly...

I was sitting at home and the doorbell rings. I go to answer it, but no one is there. What is there is a large brown box. I check the address; it's to the right house. But I haven't ordered anything from anywhere! Out of curiosity I open the top flaps. Like an S&M Jack-in-the-Box, out springs this midget. She is clad in some kind of leather bikini thing. I recognize her from the Howard Stern show (which I had seen part of before I fell asleep that night.) She looks at me, smiling expectantly and I just gape at her, goggle-eyed.

There had to have been some mistake. I am certain I would have remembered ordering...her.

I check the return address and it is from a Fascinations-type store that actually isn't too far away from where I live. In a flash of genius, I decide to carry the box, midget and all, back to the store to clear up this whole mess. So I trot down the street carrying the box with Bridget (her real name) sticking out like some perverse Oscar the Grouch, just looking around and waving at people like she is really enjoying herself. I turn into the parking lot of the adult shop and step into a war zone.

There are protestors everywhere. Helicopters are buzzing overhead and every news channel from 6 to 60 is there with reporters on the scene to cover a mass protest by various groups against the newly-opened adult store. I nervously pick my way through the crowd towards the entrance of the place. As I am about to step inside, all the cameras zero in on me and a phalanx of microphones is shoved into my face. Bridget keeps smiling and waving. There is a droning silence. I blink furiously as I am blinded by bright lights. A bead of sweat trickles down my face. It seems an eon before I finally manage to utter weakly:

"Um, she isn't mine."

Then all Hell breaks loose.

A milliion questions erupt at me, the helicopters hover just overhead, papers and debris come out of nowhere and start flying about, flashbulbs start popping, and Bridget is still smiling and waving...

I hurl the box away from me and run.

The only sound I hear is an indignant shout from Bridget before I am far, far, away.

Funny, huh?

If anyone knows anything about interpreting dreams, I'm listening.

It's that time again! That day-after-attempt-to-retrieve-any-shred-of-dignity. And I think I'll fix the spelling since I'm here.

Go!

During the time since last we met, I have gone through drastic changes. The first being, I have unleashed my Hulk-like anger. After failing miserably to break out of an underwater tube, I quickly re-leashed that anger and went about my business.
This is fairly accurate. Except the tube wasn't underwater, it was filled with water. And the anger wasn't Hulk-like, it was more schoolgirl-like.

I heard a friend of mine say tonight that they were turned off of blogging because it was a lot of pressure. And I agree, it can be. Unless of course you treat the ol' blogger as a friend who you can tell everything to in that moment of complete trust but will completely turn around and tell everyone they possibly know, and in a way that will make them look good.

Yes, the pressure is unbearable, like waiting for the cheese on your burger to melt.
Thank you, blog.

One scarring realization within the past few days that I have been unable to convey to anyone: I feel like a drownded rat the day after I drink.

Not a drowned rat, a drownded rat. There is a difference.

Nothing unique.

But I have discovered that I feel like an even larger drowned rat, possibly even a capibara, when I don't drink.

I feel bad all the time.
Physically I mean, not depressed.

And getting piss drunk sets up a very convenient false cause.
Like kid logic; if you're going to get punished anyway, you might as well do something wrong.

But seriously, tonight was goood times. We didn't quite make it to our Eight O' Clock deadline, but we got damn close. I did make a new friend by the hot tub and get a sword drawn on me and smoke two cigarettes at the same time.
The sword wasn't drawn on me at the hot tub. The rules expressly forbid it. It's an odd rule, but a good one. No more pirate attacks after that. But seriously, don't try to sneak into Dan Roche's room. And two cigarettes at the same time? It's everything you've heard and more.

Let us see who can kill ourselves first, shall we?
Alecia and I snuck into a nearby construction site. We were going to smoke inside, but we didn't have a lighter so we ate a Twix instead. Alecia found a gap in the fence after I was unable to climb over the barbed wire. In sandals. But it was lame barbed wire. I did get a tiny cut in the center of my palm. You can't get tetanus from that, right?

*I am working very hard at fixing my computer so I can actually blog something of consequence. Bear with me, if you want to.

Tim says " Chucks fucking gay!"

Chuck says " Man that'ws cold."

Sam "What up."

So I find myse;f sitting in Chucks room with far too many males and far to0o few females.

I feel a bit drained after our intense theological discussion.


This would be the fourth time that I have poste drunk. Possibly the fifth, ifyou cpount the time that I did so the morning aferbut sober.

Tomorrow is another day.

Tim says "Guillermo is the most fucking rockinest man alive, so rock on."

Ah, the foolsihness of youth.

This morning I awoke to find that 21 beers out of my thirty pack had mysteriously vanished during the night. On my coffee table was my notebook and an uncapped pen. I flipped to the last page and saw an entry for July 4th. Even though my laptop committed suicide a few days ago and I lost everything that was on it, by no means would I let that stop me from at least writing while drunk.

It is a bit difficult to read in some parts, especially in the sections where I seem to get excited. But it does answer a very serious question that many people will encounter in their lifetime: What happens when you try to write while flipping back and forth between VH1's "Insomniac Music Theater" and "Mom and Dad Save the World"? For me, the answer is this:

I must speak to you. And you will listen.

I was mistaken in my belief that you are special.
I thought I recognized something inside of you.
A familiar terro.
A fear I shared.
I wanted to believe that we could become a resource to one another.
A reserve of strength.
Monsters to mercilessly and unthinkingly slaughter those that wished us harm
A gentle rain to wash off the clinging gray muck
that people seem to stir up into the air
as they walk wordlessly by.

I find you beautiful.
You loathe yourself in that respect and perhaps others.
I find myself grossly insulted and choose to take my leave. I choose to no longer
consider you more than anyone else.
It hurts to be so cold.
How I hate the cold.
Goodbye

And that is what I am pondering over right now. To whom am I writing in such an aloof and injured tone? One clue I have is scribbled in the margin. It says "Ha, Avril, the night only gets colder and you still won't have an answer by morning." I don't personally know any Avrils so I think that an Avril Lavigne video came on and further enraged me.

No, I think I know who I was talking to. But I must have just been moody and angry in general and then decided to get all snippy. Nothing wrong with just venting, right?

But the idea of severing any emotional ties to this person and setting up more of an observant relationship seems so satisfying. I'll have to think about it some more before I do anything because there is a very good chance that I am just being dumb.

Tim Say's" What up, baby?"

Tim say's, Go to town Alecia,"
As I lay here peaceully at three in the morning,

I'm here in Alecia's room listening to her makeout with some guy, Jamie, I think, and I am just doing what I thought I should do and be that asshole friend and keep her from doing something that she would regret and Icompletly realize that I am very limited in my power to do so.

The force is very stronge in this one...

it is not the most conformting thouhg at times to know that you did your brdy and absolutely failed. Know that I tried, all of you.

She is young yet, I would forgive her if I were you.

Alecia should hav been a man..

"brian Haller" "For sure."

Final though from Brian H: " Don't forget, love another, each other,especially when one anothers drunk. (Enter Background moan from Alecia)

Frm Gurg: ...

Now with sober commentary!

I know that I promised, but...

This being a Friday evening, I was inclined to go bowling with some friends. Now I've been bowling enough to understand that it takes some degree of skill and almost no degree of athleticism to excel in. But this time was different. I learned of the Beer Frame. The Beer Frame is where each bowler makes a strike except for one. That one bowler must hen buy drinks for all the rest.
Hen they didn't even card me.

There, that's your exposition.

Now it is five in the morning and I have dank pitchers of beer, smoked many parliement lights, and dove off of many a roof. Into a pool, of course.
How do you spell "drank" and "parliament"? The lame correct way, I'm sure.

Curse being 21. I still cannot handle such freedom.
I meant "fredom."

Well, let us type then unceasingly and see what comes of it. The worst that happens is that I edit it a bit and try to pass off with a shred of dignity. I doubt that will happen.
Now I seem to be two people...

My dreams torment me. I don't know why exactly. For example:
Did I just say that I don't know why and then say why?

I dreamed that my younger brother Donaldo arrived home from being in Iraq. In my dream, I looked him in the eyes. I put my hand on his face, and I grabbed his shoulders and shook him to convince myself that he was real. And I was convinced. Then, as happens in most dreams, I woke up.
I didn't have any superpowers anymore, either.

I have been wounded tonight. I am bruised, scratched and scraped. I'll live. And it is worth it.
I jumped off of Scotty's roof into his pool. It took me several tries to climb up.

I enjoyh myself in this state. Regret is a luxury I do not have time for.
Lying.

Dammit, when you feel the flame of passion and you can not raise a spark TV showin their heart...utter defeat.
Now this is the most confusing line here to me. I think I was composing a song about a video camera with a dead battery. That or it's about impotence

I think I can make this the last time. Drinking to this point, that is. Hell, I can not drink altogether, see if I cAN'T. her I go. I should be a reality show. Then I can edit myself out of every shot and probably have a hit.
At this point a brass band started playing, people began applauding, confetti rained down, and I raised my glass in a toast to commemorate the one thousandth time I said I wouldn't get this drunk again.

Happy Deathday!
Your name:	ENTER USERNAME
You will die on:	Thursday, August 7, 2031
You will die of:	Fall from Great Height
Username:
Created by Quill

And thanks to Trevor I can see that I will probably not learn my lesson and stop clambering onto other people's rooftops. Nor will I stop being an alcoholic, because it will happen on a Thursday, not even a weekend.

English 101

navonoodle: Oh yeah, just a note, and this is just my humble opinion, but the word "conjectures" on your blog sounds a little pretentious :)

AlwaysEphemeral: You may be right about "conjectures". But it is tough finding a suitable word that becomes plural with just adding an "S".
AlwaysEphemeral: Wait, I am pretentious!
AlwaysEphemeral: And I swear Jay-Z used it in a rap.
AlwaysEphemeral: Hell, maybe I'll just buy a thesaurus.

navonoodle: hehe
navonoodle: Entry Word: conjecture
Function: noun
Text: Synonyms THEORY 2, perhaps, speculation, suppose, supposition
Antonyms fact

AlwaysEphemeral: I know, I looked it up.

navonoodle: Speculations? hah

AlwaysEphemeral: Because I could be lying, you don't know.
AlwaysEphemeral: Unless you were there, of course...
AlwaysEphemeral: then you could blow my entire cover.
AlwaysEphemeral: You know too much, Donovan.

The moral of the story is: 'Tis better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to start a blog and remove all doubt.

Or you could just spill an entire grande hot chai in front of a bunch of cute girls. That's a great way to look foolish, too.