Hey hey! Thanks for coming out to the Subterranean, for those of you who did. Good times. I’m a little exhausted, so I’m keeping this short. It’s Monday, and my boy has to go get some shots today. You wouldn’t think that a baby would have the “dude, seriously?’ look so dialed in, but after he behaves for one or two shots, that third one produces the ‘dude, seriously?’ look so amazingly that I’ve come to believe that we (humans) are genetically coded to be disappointed in others. There’s no other explanation.
On Monday, the baby is in daycare, and I’m home alone. It’s like a little field trip that I take, back to a simpler time, when I had no job and no baby and I just kind of fucked around all day. It’s eleven and I’m only wearing shorts. I don’t even believe that every day used to be this easy. I had it fucking made! What the fuck, man? I mean, I’m currently tired, but fuck, this is about as close to being asleep as you can get and still do something that passes as productive. Oh, I wrote in my blog today, that’s something. It wasn’t a total waste! Hmmm…
I should have slept more, but I have a crazy CRAZY problem sleeping. If I wake up, I have to get up, no matter how tired/hungover/sick I am. I feel insane amounts of guilt when I lay in bed. It’s not logical at all, and right now I’m not really doing anything, except wishing I’d slept more, but it doesn’t matter. I’m up, so that’s how I’ll stay. Awake.
I fell into a microphone last night and hurt my back, so I can’t even exercise or anything. It’s nothing serious, mom. Jesus, relax.
Moms…they just call and call, right? And then, you give em an inch and they take a mile. I swear, the guy who constructed this maxim was talking about moms. Just answer the phone once, because you know, you’re feeling guilty that your poor old mom keeps calling and calling, and then BOOM she’s right into the story about the daughter of the neighbors that you don’t even know and how her husband is thinking about switching jobs and maybe they’ll have to move to Kansas City and it’s like FUCK MAN! I don’t think it would be humanly possible to find a story out there that I care about less…But here’s the thing, she’s your mom. She was wiping your ass and picking your nose when you were the most insufferable little shit on the earth. She still thinks you’re cool, even when you’ve most obviously turned out to be nothing of the sort. AND (and this is the ultimate dick punch) now, I’m a parent and so I feel this renewed sense of empathy to my parents and this already sickening clinginess to my child. OF COURSE I’m gonna call and blab about crap. My life is done. I’m nothing more than a conduit through which the best possible life for this little guy flows. I don’t have time to do worthwhile shit that would make a good story. I’m busy being a dad. AND once it finally gets to that point where he’s off on his own and I’m no longer taking up all my time with making sure he doesn’t become a pervert/asshole/religious nutjob/guido/swishy fashion hipster/condescending prick/fat guy/creep/date rapist/hick/elitist/buffoon/racist/overly nice guy/pussy/judgmental douchebag, I’m going to have been out of the loop for so long that I’m not gonna be able to go out and get into good trouble if I want to. Fuck, so the neighbor’s kid did what now? Her husband’s going where? Hmmm… That’s all our futures, get used to it.
Yeah, okay. I’m going to lunch. I gotta find some pants.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
12 comments:
I have the same problems sleeping. Once I'm up, that's it, sleep is over. My friends are always like "Dude, what the hell? Three hours ago you were hanging off the edge of the upstairs porch, wasted, yelling how you were the only black god, how can you be conscious?" (ok, that was my friend Matt, but still)
Brendan, being the well-rounded, cultured man that you are, I was wondering if you could shed some light on a debate a friend and I were having. He claims there is no such thing as "art." In his words "a painting is just a picture," "music is just orchestrated sounds," "a film is just a moving pictures," etc. ect. etc. He claims anything can be called "art," therefore nothing is "art." Since you're pretty much a renaissance man I would like to get your perspective on this argument.
I can only imagine the hangover you woke up with this morning. Considering you fell over twice last night, forgot to switch instruments with Chris a few times when transitioning from the Falcon to the Larry Arms or vice versa, and generally looked extremely drunk... must have been a good night (and terrible, excrutiating morning).
Oh, and I definately met you on Saturday. Not that you probably remember, but my brother told you repeatedly that I'm minorly obsessed with you, then I gave you a really really awkwardly long hug (while trying to hold my beer and hide those pesky X's on my hands that were supposed to mark me as an underage bastard and prevent me from drinking... it's like my scarlet letter) and, from what I'm told, may or may not have ground up against you a little. Yep, that was me.
man i'd kill to have those problems sleeping. i can never seem to fall asleep without needing to sleep for 9-12 hours or sometimes more. one time i slept for 17 straight hours, uninterrupted. waking up after that shit is unbearably depressing. and then, because you've slept so much, you're dead tired for the rest of the day. life makes no sense sometimes.
if you're british, scones doesnt ryhme with bones.
Hi Brendan. Can you attempt to convince the beardy guy from Seattle to resume making music?
next fat tour
The Lawrence Arms
Dead To Me
American Steel
Dillinger Four
GET ON IT
all of this is fine, if it doesnt happen everyday. what if your mom called you multiple times a day? what then? would it make me a twat if i either had other things to do, or just didnt want to hear about the kid next door, or that television program she hated? does that make me a bad daughter? this is all rhetorical of course. how very narrow of you, im disappointed.
brendan, i need your advice for i have done something stupid in an attempt to be a good big sister.
i have to go see coheed and cambria next week with my little brother as his very early christmas present.
approximately how much whiskey should i consume in order to tolerate this? also, can i sneak a flask into the riviera theater? should i go the tequila route instead of the whiskey route? or should i forgo the liquor and just pop a couple xanax and pretend the whole ordeal is just a panic attack?
http://flickr.com/photos/31630670@N07/2962903917/
I think that image will pretty much sum the evening up.
at! (hi! i know you!) do what i did when i had the pleasure of seeing coheed and cambria....have an asthma attack. it's a quick and easy way to gtfo.
if that doesn't work, i'd say alternate between whiskey and tequila. approximately 12 shots. you are sure to get obliterated to the point where they are nearly tolerable. i brought a flask into the subterranean and said "that's empty" and they didn't even check to see that i was telling the truth. so, i'm assuming you won't have a problem at the riv. though, to be safe, hide it in the tampon pocket of your purse/bag. they never check there.
if all else fails, smack your brother, tie him down, and make him listen to some jawbreaker.
Post a Comment