I know you’ve all been dying to hear about the next installment of the improv class saga…well, it’s still lame. Last night it was determined that the teacher is A) surrounded by a misty odor not dissimilar to that of a dead salmon, and B) That he’s not very good at explaining things. How hard is it to explain, say, pretending to wait for a bus? Well, too hard for this guy, who, by the way was wearing the exact same outfit today as last week. This outfit consists of a pair of round, Bob Balaban-esque glasses, a shirt that’s a little to art deco to be considered a Hawaiian shirt (perhaps a Miami shirt?) some cargo shorts and some Velcro sandals. He wears a wedding ring, Hmmm. Anyway, class sucked but I was able to get a quick drink with some of the people in the class after work, and they seem okay, so god damn it, I think I’ll go back again next week. This is getting to be too much. My self esteem is already quite put upon by being barely employed, cloistered in my house, the less favorite parent of my child, getting old, the constant barrage of self reflection that comes with having too much free time, my lack of patience with others and the realization that all the pieces of my life are kind of in place ie, there’s not much more to it than this. Now, I really love my setup, but it’s a new frame of mind to get in when “when I grow up I’m gonna…”gets replaced with “Oh shit, I’m a grown up and all I’ve done is…” anyway, I digress. My point is, the improv class is too much to bear. My psyche is crumbling just thinking about going back there. It’s brutal.
My baby is in the next room becoming extinct, meaning he’s making noise and crying and shit when he should be napping, and I’m not supposed to go in there. Once again, brutal. You try this exercise some time. Make yourself some coffee, then sit down in your underwear and type out a list of things that bum you out while a baby screams in the background. Oh shit! He just went up to mach 5 with the screaming. I hear you, dude. Welcome to life. Guess what? It only gets crappier.
You know what’s a good drug I left off the list?
You can get this stuff if you’re afraid to fly, which I am. I only get it before big trips, like to Australia or Europe or something, but it’s great. A big Xanax and a glass of wine and the last thought before you pass out is usually something like ‘man, fuck it. I don’t even give a shit if this plane crashes.’ That’s mellow.
The baby stopped. This means he’s either A) sleeping or B) dead. I’m really, really, really hoping for A. if it’s B, the real problems of the extinction method are kind of showing themselves. I think I have to go check on him, which is a bad idea….ah, he just made a little beep of a sound and the baby monitor picked it up. Go A.
What do you order at a fast food restaurant? It’s an interesting question, actually. I rarely eat fast food, usually only when devastatingly hung over or in an airport, and even then it’s a rarity. It’s worth noting though, that I have some serious go-to favorites that are unrelenting, fast food wise. Quick list before I go shower, perhaps?
McDonalds- I get a double cheeseburger. If I’m starving, I may also get a six piece with hot mustard. I don’t really do fries or shit like that. Mostly just the double chee.
BK- Again, double cheeseburger. I don’t know which one I like better. It’s a mood thing, for sure. I do love the BK one, as it tastes WAY more like an actual burger than the mcdonalds one, which kind of tastes like a beef sweetroll. Sometimes I’ll get chicken fries from BK, just cuz it’s so fucked up that they even have those.
Taco bell- Bean burrito with sour cream, soft taco supreme, beef burrito thing from that new blue menu, any sort of exciting temporary item that’s really just one of these other things in a slightly different geometric shape. I’ll get two items at taco bell from the above list. After two items, my stomach will be bloated and full, and I’ll want another two items so badly that it’s all I can do to not turn the car around. Taco bell is like crack. It makes you feel like shit, it makes your skin bad, it makes you crap your pants, but fuck if you can stop.
Wendys- I’m not a fan. I guess I’d get a junior bacon cheeseburger, but I wouldn’t enjoy it. I like those frosties though. Yum.
White Castle- Five cheeseburgers. That’s right.
In n Out- Double double, hold the jesus, please
Jack in the Box- Ultimate cheeseburger is so fucking good! I’ll also get a taco, just to see the look on the face of whomever I’m with when they say “dude, did you just get a fucking taco from Jack in the Box?”
What’s left? Who cares. I’m bored. Oh and to the person who hasn’t had sex sober in over a year and wondered if that’s okay. Yeah, that’s what not being sober is for. Sober sex is for your little brother and his friends who have more access to pussy then they do to beer. No one else has it. Drunk sex is the only sex. Even people who think they have sex sober are usually either buzzed (read: drunk girls who don’t like to admit that they always get drunk and bone) or hungover (read: morning sex). So, yeah. Who cares if you’re always drunk when you fuck? That’s a good way to bust out the “uh, ever think about you know, the butt” or something like that, too. It can help everyone to relax, which can help them have more fun. Also, young dudes, the booze will give you a staying power you thought only porn stars had. Now, I’m in no way endorsing getting drunk and taking advantage of people, people. I’m just saying, next time you find yourself fucking, look around. Everyone’s drunk already. Nice. Hope I cleared that up for you. Okay, next stop, shower.