This is a big one...
So big in fact, that I've taken the liberty of supplying an audio file to help those struggling readers sound out the really hard words. Courtesy of Jeremy.
After playing Everquest for so long that I've starting keeping track of the things I eat via Hitpoints and skill alteration percentages instead of calories, I decided it was time for a break. There's only so much adventuring one can take, and it turned out my limit was the equivalent of 17 consecutive Jules Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth’s, 11 Herman Melville's Moby Dick's, and 7 Bibles. I actually have chain marks on my body from donning the mail of my elven ancestors for so long. Or maybe those are whip marks from the masochistic poem me and Gabi are composing called "Love Me Till I Scream The Safety Word". I'll have to check with that.
Turns out I have this week off. My summer has officially begun! I say this, my hands thrown up in the air my head facing the sun as a flock of dreary, long faced, sweaty, tired, prepubescent, absent-minded, narcissistic, trisexual, fried-their-hair-and-died-it-a-complimentary-color, pasty teens trek drudgingly back to their respective hovels/learning facilities for a 180 day uninterrupted slumber, most of them surprisingly already greased up into their tight girl pants.
Lot's of things happened this past summer, few of any real significance to me. But still they happened, and I think they deserved to be acknowledged.
First off, I have a girlfriend. I'm not sure how this happened, or when exactly. But I figure it's worth mentioning in this post because. Things have been kind of. Dry. Around my journal.
If I were to pinpoint the exact time when we started going out... I guess we were playing Smash Brothers, and she scored a cheap shot on me, and I moved to slug her in the jaw with a set of color-changing brass knuckles I got in a box of Kix, but instead I kissed her. Yeah, that sounds romantic...
Another thing that happened was Dawn went somewhere. I forgot where, but I think it was Antarctica. Or Botswana. Something gay like that. Anyway, it wasn't long before she returned home to find out her logfriend was poking his mole into holes like some sort of dildo batting against an erotic piñata, hoping to find even a tiny trace of the Special Edition Jurassic Park 2 Cereal with Marshmallows but alas to no avail...man that was fuckin funny.
Of course, I was working until I couldn't count to 20, even with my shoes off. And that says something, considering I was working in a facility that taught math. It was fascinating, because I actually thought I had the balls to work the entire summer shift in Coconut Creek. Sure, the first week I was ready to rock and roll, all pistons blazing all gears churning, dead set determined not to let any brat mess with me. I walked in there like Mr. Rogers, hanging up my bland, solid colored sweater, slipping on my polished work loafers, tightening my block patterned tie in the mirror and poking my head into the trolley hole to the Kingdom of Make-believe while whistling my own fucking theme song.
But Christ, by the last week I think I came in with only one article of clothing on my person, incorrectly placed on my left leg and my right arm at the same time, my middle fingers fixed in the upright position, and eyes so utterly bloodshot that the kids actually had the decency to curse me out in Braille.
Another summertime funvent (a word I just made up) was the fourth of July. Gabi, Laura and I went to Chile's, after driving around Coral Springs and finding out that all shops and stores and restaurants were mystically broken. You've got to wonder about our country when most business facilities will force their workers to work through Christmas, the date of birth of the fucking Lord, yet it's considered a mortal sin to work through the Fourth of July because people need to watch pretty explosions. Let me tell you something - we don't have to pretend to be happy about the war we fought for our independence anymore. Most of those veterans are dead now, and the few remaining ones weren't there watching the fireworks. They're plastered into their sofas, with the rims of their shaking, sagging jowls crusted with Diet Lime Pepsi and baked Lays, watching through grey, clouded red white and blue eyes, soft core cable porn through the fuzz of their spot wielded Nursing home brand television sets. Now get the fuck back into Carabbas and serve me!
Then for a long time nothing happened.
Throughout the summer, my hair has been growing longer. For every centimeter my hair has grown, I take a point off my "Winning At Life" meter. People look at me and assume I'm emo and go to shows and am punk rock. They seem to be able to take a look at my hairstyle and make inaccurate conjectures at the type of music I listen to, similar to that phrenology business, except totally gay. I think it's pretty cool that people think that I have good (or perhaps, depending on the phrenologist, bad) taste in music, but the truth is, you only have to take one ride in my car to realize that they've made a horrible error. The shit I have on my CD ranges from mild "Hey, I think I heard that song in a Polish lesbian soap opera once in 1987" to the more exclamatory "Turn that fucking assclown Carl Douglas down before I travel back to 1974 and beat the pseudo-asian watermelon seed-riddled shit out of him". I even drive Gabi crazy with my music, and she's trying to accept it. But really, if you're anybody but me, accepting my music is like fitting a square peg into a circular slot on a Fischer Price toy. Not going to happen unless you use heavy-duty power tools to force it.
Another thing that happened was Josh's moving to Nebraska. It's true, everyone's favorite hairstyle with a human being underneath has moved away to the fresh green pastures of Nebraska, which I read in the papers is doing wonders for it's population. According to the newspaper, it's boosted the statewide population, sending it skyrocketing from it's previous low of 0 people, to an awe-inspiring 4. Government officials also report that jobs per square mile has increased many, many fold. However this is anchored down by the recent reports of child pornography per square mile boosting 97%, a statewide high that's only been surpassed once in Nebraska's grand history during the Great Baby Outage of 07'. Has anyone ever heard of someone from Nebraska? Honestly, I forgot it was even a state. Nebraska is like that quiet, forgotten party guest that stands with Wyoming outside the room where all the rest of the 49 states are doing bong hits and fucking, only to be vaguely remembered the next day by a tipsy, hungover Ohio and Indiana who thought they left early. But they were there. Oh, they were there. In conclusion, his crazy ass will be missed by many, but I wish him luck in Nebraska or wherever he decides to live.
I suppose the next thing that simply bears the responsibility of following this news is that Laura and company threw a party for the recently departed Josh in commemoration of his leaving the state of Florida. I've never seen something like that been done before, and while it in no way pertains to me, I guess I could say that that was a different idea. Though I suppose it isn't too far off from the party I threw celebrating the hopefully violent and gory death of the Pope. The bastard.
I suppose another thing that bears mentioning is my conditioning therapy for obsessive compulsive disorder seems to be coming along fine. During my Pope Death party, I only needed wack the Pope piñata once with a burning effigy, and I was completely comfortable. Also, I was just able to say "Wack the pope" without any hindrances or compulsive thinking. Score one for conditioning.
After all is said and done, it seems summer is winding down in a blazing, screaming, crying plunge of glory. This summer is one that will fly off into the sapphire sky and disintegrate in a flurry of sparkles which turns into stars and then melds into the moon, and the smiling face of this summer would be gazing down upon the earth, and a twinkle will appear in it's eye to symbolize a wink. (copyright Josh Bailey, circa 2004)
After playing Everquest for so long that I've starting keeping track of the things I eat via Hitpoints and skill alteration percentages instead of calories, I decided it was time for a break. There's only so much adventuring one can take, and it turned out my limit was the equivalent of 17 consecutive Jules Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth’s, 11 Herman Melville's Moby Dick's, and 7 Bibles. I actually have chain marks on my body from donning the mail of my elven ancestors for so long. Or maybe those are whip marks from the masochistic poem me and Gabi are composing called "Love Me Till I Scream The Safety Word". I'll have to check with that.
Turns out I have this week off. My summer has officially begun! I say this, my hands thrown up in the air my head facing the sun as a flock of dreary, long faced, sweaty, tired, prepubescent, absent-minded, narcissistic, trisexual, fried-their-hair-and-died-it-a-complimentary-color, pasty teens trek drudgingly back to their respective hovels/learning facilities for a 180 day uninterrupted slumber, most of them surprisingly already greased up into their tight girl pants.
Lot's of things happened this past summer, few of any real significance to me. But still they happened, and I think they deserved to be acknowledged.
First off, I have a girlfriend. I'm not sure how this happened, or when exactly. But I figure it's worth mentioning in this post because. Things have been kind of. Dry. Around my journal.
If I were to pinpoint the exact time when we started going out... I guess we were playing Smash Brothers, and she scored a cheap shot on me, and I moved to slug her in the jaw with a set of color-changing brass knuckles I got in a box of Kix, but instead I kissed her. Yeah, that sounds romantic...
Another thing that happened was Dawn went somewhere. I forgot where, but I think it was Antarctica. Or Botswana. Something gay like that. Anyway, it wasn't long before she returned home to find out her logfriend was poking his mole into holes like some sort of dildo batting against an erotic piñata, hoping to find even a tiny trace of the Special Edition Jurassic Park 2 Cereal with Marshmallows but alas to no avail...man that was fuckin funny.
Of course, I was working until I couldn't count to 20, even with my shoes off. And that says something, considering I was working in a facility that taught math. It was fascinating, because I actually thought I had the balls to work the entire summer shift in Coconut Creek. Sure, the first week I was ready to rock and roll, all pistons blazing all gears churning, dead set determined not to let any brat mess with me. I walked in there like Mr. Rogers, hanging up my bland, solid colored sweater, slipping on my polished work loafers, tightening my block patterned tie in the mirror and poking my head into the trolley hole to the Kingdom of Make-believe while whistling my own fucking theme song.
But Christ, by the last week I think I came in with only one article of clothing on my person, incorrectly placed on my left leg and my right arm at the same time, my middle fingers fixed in the upright position, and eyes so utterly bloodshot that the kids actually had the decency to curse me out in Braille.
Another summertime funvent (a word I just made up) was the fourth of July. Gabi, Laura and I went to Chile's, after driving around Coral Springs and finding out that all shops and stores and restaurants were mystically broken. You've got to wonder about our country when most business facilities will force their workers to work through Christmas, the date of birth of the fucking Lord, yet it's considered a mortal sin to work through the Fourth of July because people need to watch pretty explosions. Let me tell you something - we don't have to pretend to be happy about the war we fought for our independence anymore. Most of those veterans are dead now, and the few remaining ones weren't there watching the fireworks. They're plastered into their sofas, with the rims of their shaking, sagging jowls crusted with Diet Lime Pepsi and baked Lays, watching through grey, clouded red white and blue eyes, soft core cable porn through the fuzz of their spot wielded Nursing home brand television sets. Now get the fuck back into Carabbas and serve me!
Then for a long time nothing happened.
Throughout the summer, my hair has been growing longer. For every centimeter my hair has grown, I take a point off my "Winning At Life" meter. People look at me and assume I'm emo and go to shows and am punk rock. They seem to be able to take a look at my hairstyle and make inaccurate conjectures at the type of music I listen to, similar to that phrenology business, except totally gay. I think it's pretty cool that people think that I have good (or perhaps, depending on the phrenologist, bad) taste in music, but the truth is, you only have to take one ride in my car to realize that they've made a horrible error. The shit I have on my CD ranges from mild "Hey, I think I heard that song in a Polish lesbian soap opera once in 1987" to the more exclamatory "Turn that fucking assclown Carl Douglas down before I travel back to 1974 and beat the pseudo-asian watermelon seed-riddled shit out of him". I even drive Gabi crazy with my music, and she's trying to accept it. But really, if you're anybody but me, accepting my music is like fitting a square peg into a circular slot on a Fischer Price toy. Not going to happen unless you use heavy-duty power tools to force it.
Another thing that happened was Josh's moving to Nebraska. It's true, everyone's favorite hairstyle with a human being underneath has moved away to the fresh green pastures of Nebraska, which I read in the papers is doing wonders for it's population. According to the newspaper, it's boosted the statewide population, sending it skyrocketing from it's previous low of 0 people, to an awe-inspiring 4. Government officials also report that jobs per square mile has increased many, many fold. However this is anchored down by the recent reports of child pornography per square mile boosting 97%, a statewide high that's only been surpassed once in Nebraska's grand history during the Great Baby Outage of 07'. Has anyone ever heard of someone from Nebraska? Honestly, I forgot it was even a state. Nebraska is like that quiet, forgotten party guest that stands with Wyoming outside the room where all the rest of the 49 states are doing bong hits and fucking, only to be vaguely remembered the next day by a tipsy, hungover Ohio and Indiana who thought they left early. But they were there. Oh, they were there. In conclusion, his crazy ass will be missed by many, but I wish him luck in Nebraska or wherever he decides to live.
I suppose the next thing that simply bears the responsibility of following this news is that Laura and company threw a party for the recently departed Josh in commemoration of his leaving the state of Florida. I've never seen something like that been done before, and while it in no way pertains to me, I guess I could say that that was a different idea. Though I suppose it isn't too far off from the party I threw celebrating the hopefully violent and gory death of the Pope. The bastard.
I suppose another thing that bears mentioning is my conditioning therapy for obsessive compulsive disorder seems to be coming along fine. During my Pope Death party, I only needed wack the Pope piñata once with a burning effigy, and I was completely comfortable. Also, I was just able to say "Wack the pope" without any hindrances or compulsive thinking. Score one for conditioning.
After all is said and done, it seems summer is winding down in a blazing, screaming, crying plunge of glory. This summer is one that will fly off into the sapphire sky and disintegrate in a flurry of sparkles which turns into stars and then melds into the moon, and the smiling face of this summer would be gazing down upon the earth, and a twinkle will appear in it's eye to symbolize a wink. (copyright Josh Bailey, circa 2004)