In Which I Reveal That I Am One Of The Vandals
Well, friends, I did a crazy thing. Many of you are privy to a certain hare-brained revenge I have sometimes toyed with regarding a pot of spaghetti and a certain gentleman (mayhaps that is the wrong compound descriptor for a male who is neither). Well last night when I got home I was madder than perhaps I've ever been at him. I put the water on to boil and found that I had no spaghetti but a rather large and full container of quick-oats caught my eye and well, you know the rest.
This had better be the end with him. No lasting damage was done, I feel better, and hopefully he's now seeing red enough not to talk to me so I don't have to do the hard work of avoiding him. While in New York I even bought a copy of a ridiculous pop self-help title that I have now devoured, choking parchedly on the awful truth embedded therein and I'm still a complete idiot. Where oh where did my brain go and when can I get it back? Seriously, the lunatics who save their urine and drink it for the phosphorous are comparatively completely rational savants.
And the general rundown: NYC was great, had fun, saw Grand Central Station, Times Square, Virgin Records flagship store (at which I bought a T-shirt), Macy's flagship store (at which I bought nothing), the New York Hotel (owned by the Moonies), Staten Island Ferry Terminal, Ground Zero, Little Italy, the East Village, bought way too many corsets there, saw Greenwich Village, SoHo, NoHo, Chinatown, all of MoMA, the entirety of the Egyptian & Greco-Roman wings at The Met as well as some of the Impressionists (had to snap a shot of Monet's Water Lilies since it hangs on my wall at home), rode a bike through Central Park, rode the subway, took cabs, ate at an Irish Pub, a Ma & Pa Italian place & Planet Hollywood (where the consumerism nearly nauseated me, but the burger and fries were premier), saw the Statue of Liberty, went up to the observation deck of the Empire State Building, took a double-decker bus tour of downtown (almost got off there to peruse record shops on Bleeker Street), and saw Avenue Q. Dirty place: bad water + bad air = bad skin. I need a facial.
And there you have it. Confessions of a real-life lunatic. None of this merely internet-manifested insanity.
And that is that. Feel free to quit reading. For those of you that are incredibly stubborn and stalwart, I leave you with The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot to which you should really listen rather than just reading it here, all the while realizing that I know I'm the idiot here...
If it makes you less sad, I will die by your hand.
I hope you find out what you want, I already know what I am.
And if it makes you less sad, we'll start talking again,
And you can tell me how vile I already know that I am.
I'll grow old and start acting my age,
I'll be a brand new day in a life that you hate.
A crown of gold, a heart that's harder than stone,
And it hurts a whole lot, but it's missed when it's gone.
Call me a safe bet, I'm betting I'm not.
I'm glad that you can forgive, I'm only hoping as time goes, you can forget.
If it makes you less sad, I'll move out of the state.
You can keep to yourself, I'll keep out of your way.
And if it makes you less sad, I'll take your pictures all down.
Every picture you paint, I will paint myself out.
It's cold as a tomb, and it's dark in your room,
When I sneak to your bed and pour salt in your wounds.
So call it quits, or get a grip.
You say you wanted a solution. You just wanted to be missed.
Call me a safe bet, I'm betting I'm not.
I'm glad that you can forgive, I'm only hoping as time goes you can forget.
You are calm and reposed. Let your beauty unfold.
Pale white, like the skin stretched over your bones.
Spring keeps you ever close. You are second-hand smoke.
You are so fragile and thin. Standing trial for your sins.
Holding onto yourself the best that you can.
You are the smell before rain. You are the blood in my veins.
Call me a safe bet, I'm betting I'm not.
I'm glad that you can forgive, I'm only hoping as time goes you can forget.
This had better be the end with him. No lasting damage was done, I feel better, and hopefully he's now seeing red enough not to talk to me so I don't have to do the hard work of avoiding him. While in New York I even bought a copy of a ridiculous pop self-help title that I have now devoured, choking parchedly on the awful truth embedded therein and I'm still a complete idiot. Where oh where did my brain go and when can I get it back? Seriously, the lunatics who save their urine and drink it for the phosphorous are comparatively completely rational savants.
And the general rundown: NYC was great, had fun, saw Grand Central Station, Times Square, Virgin Records flagship store (at which I bought a T-shirt), Macy's flagship store (at which I bought nothing), the New York Hotel (owned by the Moonies), Staten Island Ferry Terminal, Ground Zero, Little Italy, the East Village, bought way too many corsets there, saw Greenwich Village, SoHo, NoHo, Chinatown, all of MoMA, the entirety of the Egyptian & Greco-Roman wings at The Met as well as some of the Impressionists (had to snap a shot of Monet's Water Lilies since it hangs on my wall at home), rode a bike through Central Park, rode the subway, took cabs, ate at an Irish Pub, a Ma & Pa Italian place & Planet Hollywood (where the consumerism nearly nauseated me, but the burger and fries were premier), saw the Statue of Liberty, went up to the observation deck of the Empire State Building, took a double-decker bus tour of downtown (almost got off there to peruse record shops on Bleeker Street), and saw Avenue Q. Dirty place: bad water + bad air = bad skin. I need a facial.
And there you have it. Confessions of a real-life lunatic. None of this merely internet-manifested insanity.
And that is that. Feel free to quit reading. For those of you that are incredibly stubborn and stalwart, I leave you with The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot to which you should really listen rather than just reading it here, all the while realizing that I know I'm the idiot here...
If it makes you less sad, I will die by your hand.
I hope you find out what you want, I already know what I am.
And if it makes you less sad, we'll start talking again,
And you can tell me how vile I already know that I am.
I'll grow old and start acting my age,
I'll be a brand new day in a life that you hate.
A crown of gold, a heart that's harder than stone,
And it hurts a whole lot, but it's missed when it's gone.
Call me a safe bet, I'm betting I'm not.
I'm glad that you can forgive, I'm only hoping as time goes, you can forget.
If it makes you less sad, I'll move out of the state.
You can keep to yourself, I'll keep out of your way.
And if it makes you less sad, I'll take your pictures all down.
Every picture you paint, I will paint myself out.
It's cold as a tomb, and it's dark in your room,
When I sneak to your bed and pour salt in your wounds.
So call it quits, or get a grip.
You say you wanted a solution. You just wanted to be missed.
Call me a safe bet, I'm betting I'm not.
I'm glad that you can forgive, I'm only hoping as time goes you can forget.
You are calm and reposed. Let your beauty unfold.
Pale white, like the skin stretched over your bones.
Spring keeps you ever close. You are second-hand smoke.
You are so fragile and thin. Standing trial for your sins.
Holding onto yourself the best that you can.
You are the smell before rain. You are the blood in my veins.
Call me a safe bet, I'm betting I'm not.
I'm glad that you can forgive, I'm only hoping as time goes you can forget.